your skin and bones
by sinuk
Summary: "i never understood / what made your lips on my neck / such an intimate affair / until your teeth grazed my pulse / and i realized / you could tear open my throat / and make me bleed out in your arms / but instead / you chose to kiss" -nellsays on tumblr. Rating for drug abuse, profanity, & eventual sexual situations. Drabble collection in chronological order. FEMSLASH
1. downpour

your skin and bones

Summary: Begins in Mockingjay around where Katniss offers to share a compartment with Johanna. Roughly follows Suzanne Collins's storyline, and then I go off on my own tangent. Peeta doesn't recover from the Capitol's torture. This story doesn't really follow a set storyline. It's more like a series of drabbles in chronological order.

Characters belong to Suzanne Collins. I do not The Hunger Games. Some parts may reflect Collins's writing. The title is the lyrics to Coldplay's song "Yellow." Rated M for profanity and drug abuse.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Drug abuse, PTSD, profanity

_"'Still a little sore?' With an expert hand, she quickly detaches the morphling drip from my arm and plugs it into a socket taped into the crook of her own. 'They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from Six. I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind.'_

_Mind? How can I mind when she was almost tortured to death by Snow after the Quarter Quell? I have no right to mind, and she knows it.'"_

_~Mockingjay, _p. 219

I never thought the day would come, but Johanna Mason and I are now sharing a compartment in District Thirteen.

"She can't. She's unstable," they tell me.

"I can manage her."

To be honest, I just didn't want to see her drown in morphling. Every time I visited her she always seemed to be teetering on the edge. There was no telling when she would fall.

As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want Johanna dead. She wasn't just an asset to our revolution. She's a living, breathing person, and everyone including herself seems to forget that. I tell myself this is because I owe her for what she did back in the arena and the Capitol for me, but I know there's probably much more to that.

Eventually they give in.

She never thanks me for taking her in, but I don't mind. I don't think I could've thanked her if the situation had been reversed either.

-xxxxxx-

_"When she opens the drawer that holds my few possessions, she shuts it quickly. 'Sorry.'_

_I think of how there's nothing in Johanna's drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn't have one thing in the world to call her own. 'It's okay. You can look at my stuff if you want.'"_

_~Mockingjay,_ p. 238

-xxxxxx-

I wake early in the morning for training drills and find her still in bed, which is unusual because normally she's the one who wakes me up to train in the first place.

Her eyebrows are furrowed and she murmurs something incoherent before sitting up abruptly. I see her eyes dart around the room briefly, focusing on me for a second before her fingers loosen their grip on the bed sheets and she lies back down.

"You talk in your sleep." I allow her to regain her bearings for a moment before collecting her training clothes off the floor and tossing it to her. "Come on, Mason," I say. "We're victors, remember?" I leave to wait outside before she could say anything.

-x-

It's pouring out as we stand at the edge of the hidden entrance to Thirteen, and I hear the sound of Soldier York's whistle faintly in the distance. Johanna goes pale and appears to have ceased breathing.

"You okay?" I ask. She shakes me off.

I thought maybe last week it was just the idea of stomping around in the cold for eight hours that troubled her but now I'm not so sure. She strides into the rain, and we are soaked within minutes as we start out on our run. My ribs are mostly healed up now and I'm confident that I can make the five mile run. But after the first mile I turn back and see Johanna some distance away on her knees in the mud, hands gripping her abdomen.

I rub her back as she vomits what little contents of her stomach into the mud until the retches stop.

"Fuck, I can't do this anymore," I hear her say through the drumming of the rain as she sits up, wiping her mouth with her arm.

The rainwater stings my eyes but it doesn't conceal the defeated look on her face. "You're a Victor, of course you can. Just not today." She's shaking like a leaf but I don't know if it's from the rain or run or both. I pull her up and she holds onto my shoulder as I lead us over to a tree.

"Fucking rain," I hear her mutter.

The thick tree branches attenuate the heavy downpour and Johanna collapses against the base of the trunk, her breathing shallow. Her cheeks are slightly red from the cold but other than that her skin is so pale it's almost transparent. I study her expression as the rain picks at my eyes before untying my government issued poncho from around my waist and placing it around Johanna's shoulders.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What do you think?" I say, adjusting the hood so it shields her face.

She scowls but leans her head back on the tree as if she were going to sleep.

-x-

"Is everything okay, Mason?" I ask tentatively after a few moments of silence, shifting on the tree root I was sitting on.

"Yeah. Everything's great, Everdeen," she says thickly, her bottom lip slightly quivering. "Fucking fantastic."

I clench my jaw and stare at the mud on our feet and shoes. "Let's go back," I say. "We'll run some other time. And Soldier York won't be happy if we catch a cold."

"Fuck Soldier York," I hear Johanna mumble as I pull her up.

My clothes are streaked dark brown with mud but Johanna looks even worse. She tries not to lean onto me for leverage while we trek towards the living facility.

I ignore Soldier York's orders as we pass by her on our way back, and she eventually stalks off in frustration.

_A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for taking the time to read this._

_Here's a little background on why I wrote this: I've always been intrigued by Johanna and Katniss while reading the books, especially their attitudes and behavior towards one another. It was their changing attitudes and the gradual progression from forced acquaintance to friendship in Mockingjay that captivated me. Or maybe I'm just drawn to people or characters who are trying so hard to hold it together. __They're like the 'what if' pairing for me. Like Katniss would be the future and/or be the constant thing in her life after all that's happened. __I don't know if that made any sense, but I began writing this. _

_This has been a work-in-progress since probably August or September of 2012, but I lost track of when I actually began writing it. I switched computers and copied files over and the dates are all messed up. I apologize in advance for some parts that seem a little over the top, speaking in the case of cheesiness or just a poorly written and unorganized piece. I write to express. I write when all my other forms of repose do not work. I write in a way so when I reread my work another time, I can recall exactly how I felt when I wrote it. Even if I want to forget that feeling._

_On that happy note, I hope you Joniss shippers enjoy this! (Hopefully it won't be abandoned like my HP story) I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to upload this or not, but really I have nothing to lose. __Katniss and Johanna have grown to become some of my favorite characters of all time. __Thought I'd upload in honor of Catching Fire being released next week. I'm so excited!_

_I will update if I get feedback because this is just a section of what I wrote over about the course of a year. Again, there isn't a set storyline. Just me drabbling my heart out._

_P.S. There is a lot of poetry and works and lyrics and quotes that are placed throughout this story that I sympathized with. They were sporadically added throughout the piece. Some may relate to the chapter, some don't. Either way, I read it and I thought it would suite Johanna and Katniss. All of them have sources._


	2. rain

Trigger warnings: Drug use, profanity

_So give me hope in the darkness_

_That I will see the light_

_Cos oh they gave me such a fright_

_And I will hold with all of my might_

_Just promise me we'll be all right_

~"Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford & Sons

I follow behind her as we walk through the corridor. She strides past our compartment and I raise an eyebrow.

"Jo—" I start, meeting her stride but she places a hand on my arm to silence me. We round corners and go down multiple hallways before she stops at a door labeled for authorized personnel only. She knocks on the door and a devious smile grows on her face when there is no answer.

"Watch my back," she says, and before I can argue she slips into the room. I wait beside the door uneasily, not wanting to become an accomplice in whatever her schemes are. I listen to her shift through the bins in the room. It smells faintly of fresh cloth and ammonia and after a peek inside I realize that it's a medical closet. Johanna emerges with something clasped in her hand and shuts the door behind her.

"Come on," she says, leading me in the direction from where we came.

-xxxxxx-

She peels off her clothes when we get into the compartment and plumps down on her bed. Holding out her hand to me, I see that there are two ampoule syringes of morphling in her hand, similar the ones soldiers were given in battle to numb the pain of a wound so they could continue fighting.

"Took me forever to find that closet ever since they cut me off," she says, removing the protective casing from one of the syringes with her teeth. "I couldn't find my way back to my room the first time I went in and they had to send two nurses to go looking for me," she adds, smiling at the memory. "I only took two so they wouldn't notice a dent in the supply. Want one?"

I do. But under the circumstances of being the all-powerful and protected Mockingjay I think twice about it. I don't want to bond with Johanna over drugs either.

"Suit yourself," she tells me simply when I shake my head.

I turn away as she plunges the needle into her skin. She sighs in relief and lies back on her mattress.

"How did you even find that place?" I ask.

"I was out of it," she replies. "In one of my dazes. I was lucid enough to realize where I was once I found it though." She turns over on her mattress, her back away from me. Rounding up my clothes, I head to the showers.

I manage to sneak my lunch back to the compartment on the way back. Johanna had put on her second pair of clothes and is now wrapped up in sheets in her bed. When she hears me set my tray down on the end table she turns towards me.

"Want some?" I ask as she sits up sluggishly.

"Yeah, I'll try."

She gets about halfway through the stew I brought her before it comes back up. I almost didn't reach the wastebasket in time for her.

"It is miraculous that you didn't get too sick from today," I say absently as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Apart from your upset stomach."

"Hah. Lucky me."

-x-

We spend the remainder of our day doing mindless things, like talking about the revolution and reviewing our military terms. I tie knots to pass the time. Johanna mentions how Finnick tried to get her to do that too, but it only worked to a certain extent.

I manage to get some water in her and she has since then fallen asleep. Sometimes I hear Johanna mumble in her slumber but she doesn't wake up. I envy her.

I didn't notice until now but there's a circular scar smaller than the palm of my hand just at the juncture of the back of Johanna's neck. I remember wondering if that was there before or if it was the Capitol's work before I drift asleep.

Later that night, she returns from the bathroom with wet rags and spends a considerable amount of time cleaning the remaining mud off her skin.

-xxxxxx-

"Johanna?" Her first name feels strange on my tongue because we have grown so accustomed to calling each other by our last names. It's late and I know it's futile to just call out into the darkness after she took a hit from her morphling supply, but I do it anyway.

After no reply I roll over onto my back and try to sleep when her voice rings through the silence.

"What?"

"You okay?" I blurt. I wasn't expecting an answer.

"Just dandy," she slurs, her speech affected by the morphling. "So, are all our conversations just going to consist of you asking if I'm okay? Because I'm fine."

"I—sorry," I mumble. "Couldn't sleep."

"I know the feeling," she says drolly.

"I just wanted to know I'm not alone in here."

"Hm. Well, I would like be alone in here," she begins, "but due to your insomnia I've been unable to sneak away from you long enough to find an efficacious murder weapon to bludgeon you with," she finishes, rolling over on her side so her back is towards me. "So I'm not going anywhere." I detect a touch of sincerity behind her voice in that last statement but she had said everything so bluntly I can't be sure.

_A/N: I really don't have any personal experience with morphine withdrawal, but I'll try my best to write it out. Thank you to those who followed or reviewed or both! Next update should be around the end of the week. :) _


	3. drizzle

Trigger warning: drug use, profanity, PTSD and a hysterical passage in caps lock about my thoughts after seeing Catching Fire

Some parts of this chapter mimic Suzanne Collins's writing

I do not own the characters

"_At the hospital room door, I watch Johanna for a moment, realize that most of her ferocity is in her abrasive attitude. Stripped of that, as she is now, there's only a slight young woman, her wide-set eyes fighting to stay awake against the power of the drugs. Terrified of what sleep will bring."_

~_Mockingjay_, p. 254

-xxxxxx-

The rain has been letting up lately, although it doesn't do much to help lift our moods.

Johanna shoots the last of her morphling before we head out on our run, seeming much more driven than our last attempt. She starts shooting more and more, even on days when we don't run. But it seems like the morphling is the only thing getting her through training.

-x-

It's the twelfth consecutive day that she's been using. The plastic cap is held between her lips, the needle pressed to her skin.

"Should you still be doing that? The rain's stopped. The officials might notice a dip in the supply."

She gives me a pointed look and scowls when I don't pull away.

-xxxxxx-

I see her dancing with Finnick at the wedding. They move in one fluid motion, weaving around each other in an intricate fashion that couldn't have been choreographed in the few moments they've been on the dance floor together. I'm glad she's enjoying herself. She catches me smiling at the two of them and motions me over.

We dance. Finnick and I dance. We form a circle around Prim and dance. It is an array of hand holding and swaying and twirling between the four of us. Finnick's eyes shine, Prim's smile lights up the entire room, and Johanna's laughter is contagious. There's laugh lines on her face I didn't know were there before. I even dance with Peeta. Johanna and Finnick teach me the custom dances of 7 and 4 respectively and they are shown the traditional dances of 12 by Prim and I. Annie's eyes beam as she watches the four of us, and soon she joins in. I don't remember the last time I've been this happy.

-xxxxxx-

_Rise from your cold hospital bed_

_I'll tell you, you're not dying_

_Everyone knows you're going to live_

_So you might as well start trying_

~"Firewood" by Regina Spektor

-xxxxxx-

When I find out that Johanna's back in the hospital, I don't take it well.

"What?" I demand. "Is she hurt? What happened?"

"It was while she was on the Block. They try to ferret out a soldier's potential weaknesses," says Haymitch. "So they flooded the streets."

This doesn't help. Johanna can swim. "So?"

It takes a moment before it clicks in my mind. But Haymitch beats me to it.

"That's how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks. In the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn't know where she was. She's back under sedation."

Finnick is on his way towards the hospital immediately but I hole up in the compartment.

Why hadn't I read the signs before? Her treatment towards the rain as if it was acid. Collapsing. How she always wiped herself down with a cloth instead of showering. The circular scar. Her erratic breathing in the presence of water. I had contributed to her misery with the morphling withdrawal.

-x-

After a few hours I pull myself together and head out to the woods with one of the white cotton bandages from 12. Square. Sturdy. Just the thing.

I find a pine tree and strip fragrant needles from the boughs. I make a neat pile in the bandage and gather up the sides to tie them together. On the way to her hospital room, I spot a medical closet.

She's asleep when I come in. I set the bundle of pine needles on the nightstand and take a seat beside her. A bag of morphling is connected to her arm. Her eyebrows are slightly knotted but she looks calm.

"You lied," I say quietly. "You said you were alright, you said you were fine." That's why she stole the morphling. It dulled the edge. The pain wasn't as bad.

As surprised as I am to admit it, I'm worried about her. She looks so vulnerable and fragile here in her hospital bed. I know the full truth. Her and Peeta alone in their separate cells in the darkness—"partners in torture." Peeta was gone. Not physically, at least. But I don't want to lose her, too.

She stirs and I look up. Her eyes briefly open to meet mine and they are wide-set with fear as she suddenly sits up. But the flames die away when she realizes who I am. I see through the chink in her armor and there is a broken soul lying in front of me, her spirit and vigor long gone, replaced by armor that is only a front to protect herself from her own vulnerability. Sounds like someone I know.

"Fuck, I fell asleep again," she mumbles, rubbing the nape of her neck. Her sudden movements when she woke jerked the morphling drip from her arm and she reattaches herself.

I pick up the bundle of pine boughs and hand it to her.

Johanna recoils away from me. "What is that?" she asks. I see the sweat glistening on her forehead.

"I made it for you. Something to put in your drawer when you come back." I place it in her hands, my touch lingering a moment too long. "Smell it."

She lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. "Smells like home." Tears flood her eyes.

"That's what I was hoping. You being from Seven and all," I say. "Remember when we met? You were a tree. Well, briefly."

She gives me a small smile. "Finnick came by today."

I nod.

"You weren't there."

"I know," I say. "I just… needed time to think," I add slowly when she looks at me questionably.

"You needed time to think," she repeats. "And would could our Mockingjay possibly need so much time to think about?"

"You," I blurt. Shit.

She brushes it off. "Yeah, I'm sure there's a lot about me to contemplate. Thanks for that."

I bite my lip. But it was true. I was thinking about her and what had happened and how I had been so oblivious towards her. I was concerned about her, but given our friendship—or acquaintance she might call it—I'm not going to say that. It'll complicate things. As if they weren't already.

"I'm here now," I say. "And I was worried." She raises an eyebrow but waves it off. "Because the morphling and the rain and everything," I continue and gesture at my head. "I get it."

"And so does everyone else," she says, her tone indifferent. "I'll kill that motherfucker." I assume she means Snow. I hope she means Snow, but her eyes are drooping from the morphling. She jerks herself back awake.

I examine the drip hanging near her bed. "You don't have to steal anymore," I remark.

"They're going to make sure I get a _safe_ dose every day," she replies, frowning. I smile. There's a moment of silence before the nurse walks in to check up on Johanna. I stand to leave.

"Go to sleep," I say to her quietly, touching her hand. She frowns at the gesture but I slip one of her beloved morphling syringes in her hand.

Johanna gives me a look of gratitude, her fingers closing around the syringe as I move towards the door.

"Just this once." She almost smiles at me. I keep the image of her face in my mind when I fall asleep that night. The nightmares aren't as bad.

-xxxxxx-

_When we hold each other in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares are still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. […] For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad._

~Neil Gaiman

-xxxxxx-

She is released after two and a half weeks.

"Nothing like pretending that their procedures are working," Johanna tells me as she collapses at the end of my bed. "But I still have to come back for regular checkups."

"But what if you have another episode and they send you back?"

"Well, let's just hope that doesn't happen."

My eyes flick away from hers when I see her place her clothes inside of the drawer, along with a familiar white bundle. I fight back the smile that aches to grow on my lips.

I don't know what it is, but perhaps it's Johanna's presence in the same room as me that makes sleep come easily that night.

-x-

I wake from an unpleasant dream and see that Johanna is still asleep in the bed across from me. Her sleep is troubled but she doesn't wake. I watch as her chest rises and falls, trying to mimic her movements to steady my erratic breathing.

I don't know how many minutes pass before I hear her gasp awake and sit straight up in bed. She covers her face for a moment, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her breathing comes in rapid motions and I hear her hands fumbling on the nightstand beside her until she finds the last of her stash of morphling. Her hands are shaking when she injects, but I'm not sure if it was from her last hit or her nightmare. She exhales slowly, running her hands through her short hair before tossing the syringe on the floor.

It's gone in the morning.

-xxxxxx-

"_But why bother? You're too tough, right? Yeah, I know how easy it is to convince yourself you're something that you're not. You can do that on the outside, can just keep moving, keep yourself so busy that you don't have to face who you really are. But you're weak. I'm like you. I'm weak too. I can't get through this without somebody to touch, without somebody to love. Is that because sex numbs the pain or is it because I'm some evil fuck monster? I don't know. But I do know that I was somebody before I came in here. I was somebody with a life that I chose for myself. And now? Now it's just about getting through the day without crying."_

_~Orange is the New Black_ (TV Series 2013)

-xxxxxx-

_A/N: That's chapter 3 for ya folks! A little bit longer than the previous ones. Next update should be around Monday or Tuesday or maybe Sunday if I feel like it :) Thank you to those who have reviewed and/or followed!_

_and i'm going to try to keep this to a minimum but I JUST CAME BACK FROM CATCHING FIRE AND OH MY GOD IT WAS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. EVERYTHING. THEY DEPICTED IT EVERY KEY POINT IN THE BOOK NEARLY EXACTLY HOW I IMAGINED IT. IT WAS SO WELL-PACED AND THE SCRIPT WAS PERFECT. THE ENTIRE CAST IS STELLAR. THEY WERE PERFECT IN EVERY WAY. JENA CAPTURED JOHANNA'S FIERCENESS AND BRASHNESS AND SAM WITH FINNICK'S CHARISMATIC BEHAVIOR I PRACTICALLY COMBUSTED IN THE THEATRE. HER INTERVIEW. THERE WERE SO MANY MOMENTS WHERE I WAS ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL WITH THE WAY THEY PORTRAYED IT. THE 'I HAVE NO ONE LEFT TO LOVE' WAS PERFECTLY EXECUTED. OVERALL THIS WAS A VERY WELL PRODUCED FILM. WATCH IT. AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN. (gale was a lil bit of a deadweight tho i mean every time he was on screen i was like can you go away) (also the only bad thing was that they didn't include haymitch's game but that's okay) where's mockingjay_

_Basically this post here ( notkatniss tumblr com post/67776467730/okay-im-going-to-try-and-formulat e-some-thoughts ) says everything I couldn't say about this film. It's not me by the way, it's someone I follow on Tumblr. FRANCIS LAWRENCE AND THE CAST AND CREW THANK YOU SO MUCH_

_And the Catching Fire soundtrack. That's going to be on repeat for the next week_

_ALSO thank you to whoever is reading/following/reviewing this I appreciate it so much :)))))))))))))) _

_and how do you guys feel about them pronoucing johanna's name? personally, i pronounced it 'jo-haw-na' but in the movie it was pronounced joanna and it initially ruined the ferocity of the character for me but i moved past that because honestly i don't care how they pronounced her name-just as long as the actor who portrayed her did it well. and she did. johawna joanna jo hanna JENA MALONE_


	4. petrichor

Triggers: PTSD, drug reference, profanity

I do not own the characters

-xxxxxx-

"Do you trust me?"

The water's begun to go a little lukewarm in the tub. It's filled a little over halfway up, and my hair is plastered to my face and she curls up against me in her underwear.

The events leading up to this situation weren't the prettiest. She had been wiping herself down again, still slightly buzzed from her recent morphling intake and I had decided I wasn't going to have another chance at asking her without talking myself out of it.

"Johanna."

"What?" she had said, rubbing her cheeks with the rag.

"Do you need help?"

"What?"

"I mean—with the water thing. I could help you out. Like with the bathtub and all."

She scrunches her eyebrows. "The fuck is this, Katniss? I'm not made of glass, I can handle it. Did someone put you up to this?"

"What? No," I sighed exasperatedly and had slumped back onto my bed. "I—nevermind. Forget I even offered." I heard her throw the rag on the floor and the springs in her bed creaked as she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Sorry. It was instinct."

"Yeah. I caught that."

She chewed on her lip. "Do you even have a nose?" she asked, lifting her elbow to smell her underarms. "I smell like Hawthorne after training." I smiled at that. She added after a moment of silence, "Of all the things I thought would fuck me up, you know?"

"We could go in the washroom tomorrow. Late, if you want. Most of the nurses would be asleep by then, no one would see and check you back into the hospital," I had said quietly.

She drew her lips into a thin line and met my eyes. "Just so we're clear, I'm not gonna brush your fucking hair or share clothes or do any of that intimate girly shit with you because of this." I grinned and the look she had given me after saying that actually made me feel like we were… well, friends.

Despite being almost friends, I never expected to crawl in with her. But she thrashed so violently when I tried helping her in I became soaked without even setting foot in the bath. "To hell with it," I had muttered and began stripping down to my underwear.

She cradled herself against me as she tried to recompose herself and get accustomed to the water. My heart was beating in my throat at the close proximity and I had hoped that her tremors would gradually fade but so far, it wasn't looking too good.

She doesn't reply. "Johanna?"

She nods, clenching her jaw as I gently press a wet washcloth to her back. Laying a hand on her shoulder to steady her, I shift the cloth around her neck and shoulders and back to cleanse her pores. Her skin is slightly tinted yellow, and I stop after a moment and rub her arm soothingly as I did with Prim when she had nightmares.

"Is it too much?" I ask when I see her hands shaking.

"No, keep going," she says, biting her cheek as I continue to scrub her back, massaging the muscles as I went.

I try not to linger on each sporadically placed scar on her skin for too long. The entire time I talk to her, telling her stories of occurrences that happened in 12 before I was reaped. When I pour water over the back of her head, her breathing becomes so rapid it nears the point of hyperventilation.

She flinches, telling me to stop. Her voice is a tone I haven't heard before. The sudden movement shifts the water, which only adds to her hysteria. Her hands grip the edge of the bath and I climb out quickly and pull her up. Once free of the water she collapses against the end of the bath on the cold cement, her breath shallow.

"Hey," I say, placing a towel around her shoulders. "You're fine. You're fine, you did fine." She's shivering uncontrollably and her eyes stare back at me blankly. I rub her face with the towel to dry off the moisture and whisper comforting words until she calms down.

-xxxxxx-

_Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are._

~Markus Zusak

-xxxxxx-

The overwhelming intimacy of that day makes sleep come easily enough, but soon everything is screaming in my dreams. My eyes snap open and a shiver runs up my spine as I sit up. My breath is short and my heart threatens to burst from within me. There's a flash of light that quickly goes out as the compartment door shuts behind Johanna.

"You alright there?" she asks almost tentatively. In her hands is a syringe.

"Yeah," I mutter, lying back down and pulling the covers to my chin. I shudder from the cold sweat that broke out in my sleep and realize my body is trembling from the adrenaline.

"This is so fucked up," she says suddenly, tossing the syringe into the trash. "They're filling the medical cabinets with empty syringes! What do they expect us to do? Fucking cope?"

She catches me watching her and sighs. The shadows dance against the walls as I see her start towards me and stop, her face vague.

My throat swells when she climbs into bed beside me, lying down with one arm folded beneath her head.

"This is bullshit," she mutters, her free hand playing with the sheets.

"You going to start numbing yourself with me now?"

"Ha ha," she says, her voice thick with sarcasm. She shifts on her side to face me, rubbing the crook of her elbow. "You know, you're lucky," she says quietly after a few moments. "Having someone around when you wake up. I'm almost jealous." She smiles sadly to herself.

"What did you say about all that intimate shit?" I ask innocently after a period of silence. A smile pulls at my lips.

She scoffs. "Shut up."

I lie across from her for a while, listening to her steady breathing. The thought of sharing a compartment being her ploy to murder me flickers in my mind, but in one fleeting moment of comprehension I realize this was her trying to alleviate the effects of my nightmare. And I'm so touched by her actions that my body acts before my mind, and my need for human contact overpowers her attitude towards our friendship and I curl towards her. Her skin is slightly damp with sweat, and our faces are in such close proximity we're almost sharing breaths. I sigh uneasily.

"When's the last time you had a fix?" I ask.

"A while."

Her hand eventually goes to the small of my back as she tries to steady it. The contact relieves the swelling in my throat and my body calms. It comforts me. It's something I haven't felt in so long, something I wasn't sure I'd ever feel again. It's different from Peeta's. It's hesitant and wavering, but I feel secure in her arms. _Secure_. The word replays in my head as I place my hand under her forearm.

"Don't think," I say. Don't think about your withdrawal. Don't think about the drugs. Don't think about how close we're lying together, or how our noses are nearly touching. Don't think. I fall asleep wondering if I'm still talking to her.

-xxxxxx-

_And you are folded on the bed_

_Where I rest my head_

_There's nothing I can see_

_Darkness becomes me_

_But I'm already there_

_I'm already there_

_Wherever there is you_

_I will be there too_

~"Silhouettes" by Of Monsters and Men

_A/N: I recommend that you listen to that song above. The lyrics were written for Katniss, especially in Mockingjay. At least that's what I like to think. Anyways, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. I'm not good at wording my thoughts or intentions. I'll probably do a little editing here and there because I've been messing around with the content of this story over the weekend. And I'm thinking of putting up a video edit of Katniss on my YouTube channel but I can't decide if I want to put the song "Waltz" by The Naked and Famous or "1.36" by Coldplay. It might be a while before I even get around to finishing that. If I do upload it, I'll put my YouTube channel in the author's notes._

_Thank you to everyone who has followed/reviewed! Next update might be a little later because of Thanksgiving and Black Friday and whatnot. Let me know what you guys think of the chapter or story please please pretty please thank you or what song I should choose for the video! (or maybe I'll just make 2 separate ones for both)_

_Until next time! I hope those of you who celebrate it have a lovely Thanksgiving and holiday! –sinuk _


	5. flood

_A/N: I have no idea how you guys will feel about this chapter because I am shit at writing these sorts of things but I hope you like it. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited! it makes me so happy_

_Also I ordered a District 7 seal shirt for myself because of Johanna. And I had to watch Catching Fire 3 times in the past week with 3 different groups of people but I'm not really complaining. I love seeing people's responses to movies_

SPOILERS FOR _MOCKINGJAY _AHEAD

Triggers: Language, (poorly written) sexual situations

I do not own the characters

-xxxxxx-

I reach for Johanna and drape a towel around her shoulders as she climbs out of the bath before wrapping one around mine. She watches me with wide eyes.

I look at her pristine collarbones and skin and can't help but smile.

"See something you like?" she asks smugly.

I roll my eyes. "How do you feel?" I ask her, unplugging the tub.

She hesitates, patting the moisture off her head. "Clean. But internally speaking: shit." I see a shadow of a smile on her face out of the corner of my eye. She is still recovering from the last stages of her morphling withdrawal. I avert my eyes when she bends over to pat her legs dry, and when she stands up straight again our faces are unusually close. I see a drop of water run down the side of her nose, moving towards the corner of her mouth. The chill air begins to raise goose bumps on my skin.

"See you back at the compartment," I mutter and slip out of the room before I do something stupid like try and kiss her.

-x-

We work with the water over the next few days. Johanna has improved to the point where I don't have to sit in the tub with her anymore, but I remain in the room so she keeps a level head. I help her when her hands start shaking too much. She hasn't been shooting since I've started helping her, at least not to my knowledge. But she's getting better. She's getting better.

-xxxxxx-

_19.__As the pressure of a gas increases, its volume decreases. When you fold your body over mine in the dark and press down on my bones, I shrink countless times. For love, I grow smaller._

~writingsforwinter, Number 19 of "A 20-piece Memoir on Me & You"

-xxxxxx-

"It's just a meeting with Haymitch," I say. "I'll come back." I want to mean it but my words feel empty as they leave my mouth.

I stand in the doorway of the compartment. It's the night before we launch the mission for the Capitol. Originally, my plan was just go to the dining hall and then the meeting with Haymitch so I could leave without any sappy farewells, but the dejected look on her face as she lay there makes me second guess myself. She nods, muttering something remotely sarcastic.

"Hey," I say quietly, sliding the compartment door shut. Her eyes are glued to the ceiling and I sit beside her on the bed. "Me dying won't even matter that much to you anyway."

She laughs. "Hell no, it won't." She sits up, glancing over at me and flashing one of her signature smirks, but this time it doesn't quite reach her eyes. I watch her as she gets up and opens her drawer, looking for nothing in particular.

I suddenly forget all about my plan to leave. That slight falter in her bravado has me pondering how long she had been wearing it. The bravado that hid the void that's swallowed her life.

_They can't hurt me. There's no one left I love._

"Go," she tells me as I get up. "Go shoot Snow's fucking brains out. Or better yet, drown him. Let him get a taste of his own medicine." She looks away, clenching her jaw.

I watch her for a moment in the doorway. All I want to do in this moment is bring her back. I want to fill that void because she is looking completely hopeless right now. I want to tell her that there is life beyond just living. She's gotten this far already. We've gotten this far. There's no point in turning back.

She turns to me as if to retort something to make me leave but my body is surging towards hers and I kiss her. It happens so quickly that we are both stunned by what I've done for a horrifying few seconds. I stay connected to her for a moment—almost reveling in the tenderness of her lips—and prepare to pull away when her mouth moves against mine to let me in. Her hands pull my face close, my skin burning where her fingertips meet my cheek.

Our movements gradually grow hungry with desire and we stumble against the wall, the cold concrete cooling my hot skin. We part only so she could remove her clothing and I hear my breath hitch at the sight of her bare skin.

"Nothing you haven't seen before," she smiles into my mouth, her hands tugging at the waistband of my uniform.

We fall back onto one of the beds, and she strokes my face as her lips meet mine once more. Her body is pressed against mine, tongue teasing my bottom lip and I let her in. My hand goes to her neck, thumb brushing her ear as I pull her closer.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks suddenly, pulling away. "We don't have to, you know." I open my eyes and see hers scanning my face in the darkness. My heart is beating in my throat and my breathing is erratic but I still manage a laugh.

"When have you ever asked me for my consent to anything, brainless?"

I hear her laugh in the darkness as she helps me remove the remainder of my clothing and my hands run fervently over her skin, this time with a different purpose. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I try to control my breathing as she begins placing kisses down my body, her lips grazing my pulse point and biting at my collarbone. Warmth radiates at each spot her lips touch. She carefully maps my abdomen with kisses and her hands run down my sides, sending a shiver that rattles my bones and my hands caress her head. Hers continue to move ardently over my skin, moving lower as each blissful moment passes.

"Don't think, right?"

I nod, but I know I'm lying. Don't think about how your bodies fit against each other. Don't think about her lips on yours, her hands on your skin, her breath on your neck. Don't think about the heat increasing between your bodies. Don't think about the delicate contours of muscle on her back or the slight curve of her stomach, or the sight of her collarbones in the dim light. Don't think. Just do.

-x-

"I didn't know you had it in you," she tells me afterward.

"Me either."

I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as she lies beside me, my fingers running along the lines of her back. I start to move from the bed when I hear her voice ring out in the silence.

"Don't go," she murmurs, her hand closing around my wrist.

"I'm not," I whisper as I find a discarded shirt on the floor and pull it over my bare chest. Judging by the unfamiliar aroma I can tell that it isn't mine.

I return to her embrace and kiss her shoulder gingerly, adjusting the sheets over the both of us. My breathing is still a little troubled and she turns on her side and kisses me, her cheeks warm. Our legs tangle beneath the sheets and we share a tender moment together, hands roaming to now familiar places and I don't want to stop. Her lips part from mine but she doesn't pull away. I feel her hand gingerly rubbing the back of my head and I brush my nose against hers and pull her closer, her eyelashes fluttering on my cheek. We shift to rest more comfortably against one another. I tuck my face into her neck.

"I haven't got anyone but you," I hear her say after a long silence, her hand stroking the nape of my neck. She curses and turns her head away, taking a deep breath. I stir to somewhat acknowledge what she said, but she continues to stroke the hairs on my neck as if nothing happened.

-x-

I almost could not handle the morning afterward.

"Stay," she murmurs sleepily as she lay on her stomach, her hand closing around mine as I try to slip out of bed. "Don't go. Please don't go."

"I can't," I say, running my thumb over her cheekbone. "I'll come back. I promise." I know it's futile to tell her this. I shouldn't have kissed her. I shouldn't let her get her hopes up. But she has become one of the reasons why I'll do anything to survive. I'll fight for Prim. I'll fight for her.

She says something incoherent and it's evident that she won't let me go. I crawl back in beside her, kissing the spot between her eyes and then her nose and lips.

("They always say they'll come back.")

-x-

It takes everything inside of me to slip out of her arms after she falls back asleep.

I don't risk a kiss before I go. Because if I kiss her, she might wake up. And if she wakes up I'll catch sight of those eyes and I'll never possess the willpower to leave her again.

But I guess I was still partially following my plan after all. No sappy farewells, no last heartbreaking words. The entire journey to the Capitol I don't change out of her shirt.

-xxxxxx-

_The saddest word in English: Stay._

~writingsforwinter, 6-word Story #49

-xxxxxx-

I come back. I come back and now I live a life that I only saw in the depths of my worst nightmares. But I will confirm three things: 1) I watched the mutts as they tore the life out of one of my closest friends. 2) I watched as innocent children received silver parachutes that blew them to bits before my eyes. 3) I saw my little sister go with them, my name forever a ghost on her lips.

And all I remember is a terrible pain, a pain I've never felt before that licked up my arms and legs and back, barely brushing my chin before it stopped. It was the color of the rebellion and I have never felt so betrayed.

Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire. How painstakingly ironic.

-x-

I lied. There is no life beyond just living if you have nothing left to live for.

-xxxxxx-

"'_Let me die. Let me follow the others,' I beg whatever holds me here. There's no response._

"_Trapped for days, years, centuries, maybe. Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but good as dead."_

_~Mockingjay, _p. 349

-xxxxxx-

_A/N: I don't know how I feel about this chapter. Was it too much? Did I go out of character at some parts? Let me know please! Even though this is published, it is forever a work-in-progress in my eyes. And we are approaching the part in this story where my writing becomes really rough-cut, so chapters may be a little delayed until I become moderately satisfied in the content I'm going to post. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience. _

_Next update is sometime next week hopefully, I've got a number of things to do before Christmas. Thank you thank you thank you to all who have reviewed and followed and favorited. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday! x_


	6. storm

I do not own the Hunger Games

Triggers: PTSD, drug use

"_Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in darkness."_

~_Mockingjay_, p. 352

-xxxxxx-

I spend my days running. Not running like during training. Not running like I did during the Games. Not even physically running. I'm not sure what I'm running from, but I don't want to turn back to check.

-x-

Sometimes it gets so cold while I'm hiding in these vents that I am unable to hear my own thoughts, feel my own hands on my skin. I slide the wristband that deems me mentally disoriented around and around, staring at the letters until they no longer make sense. My mind focuses on the feeling of the plastic band digging into my skin as I float in and out of consciousness.

Sometimes it takes them hours to find me. I don't want them to find me, but I can't help but scream when I can no longer fight the demons in my head.

-xxxxxx-

"'_Haymitch.'_

'_Listen to that. The Mockingjay found her voice,' says Haymitch, laughing._

'_I need your help,' I say._

_Haymitch belches, filling the air with white liquor fumes. 'What is it, sweetheart? More boy trouble?' I don't know why, but this hurts me in a way Haymitch rarely can. It must show on my face, because even in his drunken state, he tries to take it back. 'Okay, not funny.' I'm already out the door. 'Not funny! Come back!' By the thud of his body hitting the floor, I assume he tried to follow me, but there's no point. _

_I zigzag through the mansion and disappear into a wardrobe full of silken things. I yank them from hangers until I have a pile and then burrow into it. In the lining of my pocket, I find a stray morphling tablet and swallow it dry, heading off my rising hysteria."_

~_Mockingjay_, p. 363

I hear shuffling from outside my burrow as I sit with my knees pulled to my chest. A hand lifts a piece of silk shielding my face and I don't believe my eyes when I see the figure in front of me, the light accentuating the small features and lines of her pristine face in this moment I think it's too good to be true.

"Johanna."

It barely comes out as a whisper and her eyes are shining when they meet mine and she gives me a one-sided smile.

I crawl out from beneath the sheets and am pulled into her arms. Hot tears sting my eyes as I breath in her scent, the scent that faded from her shirt long ago, the scent I now considered home and we tumble to the floor. Her arms tighten around me and I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders when I wrap my arms around her. My mind has been a cloud, slowly drifting away until her embrace rained down on me and I feel a heat that warms me to the core, a heat I feared I would never feel again. I close my eyes and absorb her presence, the feeling of her arms around me, her hands pressing into my shoulder blades. Her. No words could fathom the feeling that will express how much I had longed for her when I was away.

So I don't say anything. And we hold each other for a long time, and she whispers quietly to me, kissing my ear, my neck.

I realize I am hyperventilating as the reality of Prim's death hits me. The event replays in my head as I melt into her lap, trying to regulate my breathing. Even the warmth from her body cannot stop the hysteria that is beginning to seep into my limbs. I wrap my shaking arms around her middle, but the waves come crashing down.

I'm sobbing too violently to realize she is crying with me.

("Why did you leave?"

"I knew you'd be okay.")

-xxxxxx-

_We might be hollow, but we're brave._

~"400 Lux" by Lorde

-xxxxxx-

From the red rawness of her eyes I see after some nights I realize I'm not the only one who's hurting.

Finnick.

The last trustworthy and dependable and constant person in her life. Gone.

(And then I realize she's staying strong for me.)

And some nights when she thinks I'm asleep in bed, she grieves. I tighten my hold on her when I hear her quiet sniffles in the dark beside me as she subtly tries to wipe the tears away.

-x-

Some nights we cling to each other in the darkness. Some nights there are unsaid words and wet pillowcases.

-xxxxxx-

"You know how Johanna is. She's always held everyone at an arm's length," Finnick had said to me during drills one morning. "I've known for Jo a long time; she's a good person. One of the best people I know. Yeah, she's had a lot of one night stands and flings and has a certain attitude towards people, but with you she's different."

"She's different with you, too."

"But my different is different from your different," he said, grinning.

"Nothing's going on between us," I had told him.

"Love is weird, Katniss. With everyone else, you'd think there was nothing past her abrasive attitude. Believe me, she's got a heart behind her sarcasm and menacing looks." I smiled. "The feelings are there, she just chooses not to use them. With everyone."

"What about you?"

He broke out laughing, nearly dropping his gun in the process. "Me? I'm just her anchor, and she is mine. We have each other's backs." I thought back to the arena, when they found each other on the beach. His expression when Haymitch told us she was back in the hospital. "Everyone else was just a distraction. But when I see her with you…"

Our conversation ended when he was called away by a drill instructor and I didn't get to hear what he meant to say. And now I never will.

-xxxxxx-

She's seated beside me in one of the rooms in Snow's mansion. There is a wide window that spans the entire wall, and at some point in the day she came in and set a loaf of bread in front of me.

"Eat," she had said, touching my cheek. "Please."

When I didn't respond she took a seat beside me, pulling her knees up to her chest. Together we sat in silence, watching the sun make its way across the sky, casting varying shadows on the landscape and the loaf of bread in front of me. Eventually I find her head on my shoulder.

Even after the sun sets the bread remains untouched.

-xxxxxx-

_Kiss her till her pain has been pushed away._

~Unknown

-xxxxxx-

The gaping hole in my chest leaves me in a state of dysphoria, even around her. She's worried. She tells me that it's not my fault and that everything will be okay, but I can't hear her. When we're in bed, I pretend to be asleep and she stays awake for hours on her end, shifting around on her side.

"Go to sleep," I say one night. "I don't want you losing sleep because of me."

She watches me as I find a morphling tablet in the end table and swallow it dry. Her hand caresses my neck.

"You're not going to go through this alone," she says firmly. "I know what it's like. I'm not going to watch you go through this by yourself. I'm not going to do that."

My hand meets hers at my neck and I curl my fingers around her small wrist.

"Does it get better?" I ask after a moment of silence.

"No," she replies, and I feel the heat rising to my face. "It only gets bearable. But it doesn't get better."

I curl my face into her hand, closing my eyes. When they open, they catch a white bundle in the distance, sitting beside a set of clothes on top of my drawer. I barely have time to register what it is in my haze before she speaks again.

"I was alone for a long time after my Games," she begins. "The loneliness, it eats away at you. I don't want you to go through what I went through alone. I'm not letting you do that." Her fingers brush the hairs back on my head and the raw sincerity of her voice brings me to tears.

-xxxxxx-

_People say I love you all the time—when they say, 'take an umbrella, it's raining,' or 'hurry back,' or even 'watch out, you'll break your neck.' There are hundreds of ways of wording it—you just have to listen for it, my dear._

~John Patrick, _The Curious Savage_

-xxxxxx-

She pulls me against her in the water. I watch her hands, shimmering as they travel over the grafts in my skin, warmth spreading wherever she touched. Her hands run up to my shoulders, pulling me even closer. I feel gentle kisses being placed on the spot behind my ear and her soft voice telling me it's alright.

At this point I can't tell if my face is wet from my tears or the water.

Maybe both.

-xxxxxx-

There were nights where our brief kisses grew heated and escalated quickly, but she never objected when I pulled away. I could still see her devastated face when I told her to stop one night. It was the first time we had tried to have sex since that night, and the scars and discolor sent me into a fit of anguish, the images of the parachutes replayed in my head like some twisted tracker jacker hallucination. Only it was real. Suddenly my breath was short and I felt her hands on my face, trying to calm me down, and kisses being planted down my ear to my jaw to my neck. Through my tears I could feel the heat of the fire, hear the faint call of my name. Johanna climbed off of me and held me against her chest until I regained control of myself. In that moment I didn't think the pain would ever stop.

Another night she offered to find me a shot of morphling, but after a long internal struggle I turned it down. I couldn't do that to Prim. She knew I was strong; she would want me to pull through this.

But I realized I was lying to myself because whenever there is a morphling tablet within my reach I can't help myself.

-xxxxxx-

_Why do you speak in words, when there are a thousand ways to communicate?_

_Speak to me with your eyes. Speak to me with your lips. Speak to me with your knees. Cave into me. Crash into me. Quiet does not mean empty, but so very full, so full that words would never be enough. Speak to me without words._

~Amanda Helm, "Shyness"

-xxxxxx-

Sometimes I catch her biting her cheek out of the corner of my eye when I pull the tablets out. She suddenly takes great interest in her hands, drumming her fingers against whatever surface she can find. But she doesn't cave. I recount the pills every few hours just to make sure but they're all there every time.

The next morning, I stand in the bathroom. My hand trembles as I open my palm, counting all the pills out one by one. It's easy. I find my life to be as pale as the pills in my hand, as lifeless, as colorless, as fragile. I see her face behind my eyes in my fire mutt reflection in the mirror. I feel her gentle hands on mine, hear her hushed voice in my ear, see the light reflecting off of her brown eyes the way they do in the morning. That fleeting glimpse of her is enough for me to make my decision. I turn my hand, watching as the pills fall from my palm and plop into the toilet, settling at the bottom peacefully. I pull the handle, watching them swirl away until I am left with only my reflection in the water.

-x-

The next time she offers me food, I eat. And I'll never forget the look she gave me when she saw me take that first bite.

-xxxxxx-

_You spent too long running_

_But there's nothing coming_

_Turn around and run into me_

~"Stole You Away" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

_A/N: whaaaat this story has over 70 followers now! That is way more than I had anticipated when I first uploaded. thank you thank you thank you all so much for reading and following and favoriting and reviewing. I feel like I can't say that enough. Thank you, guys. Reading your responses and seeing the emails in my inbox with updates on who's keeping up with this story always makes my day_

_Anyways, I'm not sure how I feel about these vignettes. I was reading it over late one night and couldn't tell if I was just being cynical with my writing or if it was just unorganized and bad. But I uploaded anyway! I apologize if this chapter was a little off, I understand. As I said, these are rough cuts with less revision time behind them, but I think I'll take more time to look these over. Hopefully the chapters I have uploaded will keep you satisfied! I don't have a date for when the next chapter will be uploaded; the next few weeks will be rather busy for me. But let me know what you think – thoughts, comments, reactions. Thank you for your support my dears_


	7. stars

Triggers: PTSD, language

_-xxxxxx-_

_Stay strong. You never know who you're inspiring._

~Unknown

-xxxxxx-

Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night or early in the morning and feel her hand toying with my hair. Or outlining the edge of my face with a gentle finger, or rubbing my back underneath my shirt with her palm reading each rift in my skin. And I would stir just to see what she would do, and she would wait until she thought I was asleep and I would feel her plant a kiss on my face and pull me closer. And I let her hold me. I reveled in her touch and the soothing sensation it brought, and the feel of her hands over my skin, massaging as they went along—almost as if she could rub the scars away. And on some nights I would touch her too. We didn't talk. It was just these moments of silence with her that were so endearing. They were gentle notions—caressing her cheek and neck, running my thumbs over her curves, my hands through her hair. Sometimes they weren't, and we would touch and kiss and lose ourselves in each other, even if it was just for a moment. I could get lost in her for days and days and days.

-x-

And one night she tells me she loves me. It's barely a whisper, but when I hear the gravel in her voice I nearly drown in a floodgate of emotions. My body reacts before I can conceive proper words and she holds my head between her gentle hands and our lips meet. Her hands leave trails of fire as they run over my bare skin and I can taste the saltiness of our tears as we kiss. And she keeps telling me she loves me, she loves me, she loves me so much it hurts. I can't even bring myself to say it back to her without the dead screaming in my ears.

And it gets so hard to breathe that when her lips part from mine for air I break right there in her arms, pulling away. My body is wracking uncontrollably as I struggle for oxygen and I wonder briefly if my little sister had ripped out my lungs along with my heart when she succumbed to the fire.

("I never thought I would be able to say these three words again but we're safe now and I love you. I want you to know that, okay? I love you.")

_-xxxxxx-_

_We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are._

~Anaïs Nin

-xxxxxx-

"_And she needs a release. And she needs closeness, even if she doesn't trust intimacy. She has to find comfort in people that will be safe for her."_

~David Fincher on Lisbeth Salander, _The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo_ (2011) director commentary

-xxxxxx-

I used to wander President Snow's mansion. I could wander and hide in a closet in the farthest corner of the damn place and it would take hours for authorities to find me.

But it didn't take long for her. It never took long for her—an hour at the most. Not that I kept track.

I don't know how she does it. I thought it was my growing paranoia from withdrawal at first, and I began watching my back in the hallways. Of course, there wouldn't be anyone. But she always found me.

-xxxxxx-

We are sitting on a bed in a room furnished after the color fuchsia on the third level of the mansion. Our feet meet halfway between our bodies and she is hunched over a book in her lap. I watch as she turns the page.

I know I'm not the only one with issues in this room. I know she's got her own demons and addictions and I want to be there for her like she is for me. I want to get better for her. I want to be able to tell her.

"What?" she says quietly, looking up. "You were saying something," she adds at my confused expression.

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. Instead I feel a tear roll down my cheek and then her hand brushing it away, pulling my face into her shoulder as she closes the book. She rubs my ear and runs her fingers through my hair as I try to force the tears away. In this moment I don't think it's possible to feel any more pathetic than I do right now. I still feel her hand in my hair, gently massaging my scalp while her other hand draws circles on my back.

"Jo?" I say. She hums a quiet response and buries her face in my hair and kisses my head.

I sit up so our faces are level and press my lips to hers briefly, pulling back with the hesitation sitting on my lips but she melts into the kiss, running her hand down the side of my face. I break the kiss once more, my face cupped between her hands.

"Johanna, I…" My voice catches in my throat as her eyes flick up to meet mine. I bite my lip, keeping my eyes focused on the delicate curve of her collarbones.

"I know," I hear her say, pulling back. I feel the warmth from her body leave me and I retract my lips between my teeth, feeling the heat in my cheeks dissipating. And as I sit here in front of her, I think back to every moment I was forced into saying something I didn't want to say. For the Capitol. For the rebellion. Everything that was scripted, pre-written, thought out. And then I think about this moment right now. When those are no longer an issue. But I can't muster enough courage to actually do it. The one moment when I want to say something I actually want to say, I can't. I can't even say it.

"I know," she says again. She reaches for the book on her end of the bed. "You want me to read to you." A laugh escapes my choked throat.

"Yes," I say, hastily wiping at my eyes. "Yes, please read to me."

I end up lying with my head in her lap as she read. Her free hand is at the nape of my neck, her fingertips just grazing the edge of the hem of my shirt. I realize I'm not even listening to the words. My mind is focused on the flow of her voice, letting it spread throughout my body and fill me with such a warmth I felt like I could lift off the bed at any moment. I could almost see her smiling as she read, and when she pauses to begin the next chapter, I interrupt her.

"You stayed," I say, surprised at the clarity of my voice. I can't think of anything else so I sit up to face her, unsure of what to do next. "I—"

She hushes me with a peck to my lips. "I'm reading here, Everdeen." She laughs at my feigned somber expression and pulls me so close I could count every fleck of color in her chestnut eyes. I find that my cheek aligns perfectly with the palm of her hand. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere." She kisses me again and I tug her closer when she parts as the book clutters to the floor.

-xxxxxx-

_Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive._

Hafiz

-xxxxxx-

"I want to go back to 12."

"I thought you'd never fucking ask," she replies, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Snow's tapestries were beginning to make my retinas burn."

"We're not required to stay here," I say, scrunching my eyebrows. "They don't really need us here anymore."

"I've got nowhere else to go," she replies nonchalantly.

She lies beside me in silence, and then turns so her eyes meet mine and her hand goes to caress my neck, her thumb flicking my earlobe.

"Are you sure you want to go back?" she asks simply. "I haven't been back home—to 7 since I was reaped."

"I'll be okay," I say quietly. "You'll be there." I see the glint of light in her eyes when they focus on me. "I mean—if you want to be," I stutter. "I mean I want you to be there."

Her face softens. "You're an idiot," she says, kissing me before I have any time to think. I break away, grinning sheepishly and hear her laugh. "I want to," she whispers, stroking my cheek. "Of course I want to, brainless." Her eyes gaze into mine warmly.

"You're all I have, too, you know," I say after a pause.

Her hands stop moving in my hair for a moment as she absorbs my words. She places a kiss on the top of my head and responds with a murmured "I know."

-xxxxxx-

_Let someone love you just the way you are—as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room._

~Marc Hack

-xxxxxx-

I hear the faint humming of the train as we travel at lightning speed across the country. Our luggage is by the door of our compartment, neatly packed into two backpacks.

She's awake, lying on her side as I lie on my chest on the bed. Her hand is running down the length of my bare back along my spinal cord in a soothing motion. I close my eyes at the contact.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispers, her voice almost drowned out by the humming of the train. Her hand briefly massages my trapezius muscles before they return to my back. Shifting to face her, I link our fingers together and bring my face close to hers to press a kiss onto her forehead.

She tilts her chin up, her lips slightly parted and I close the gap in a kiss, cupping her cheek in the process as we melt into one another. We stop as quickly as we start, sharing breaths for a moment before fitting our bodies together in an embrace. There are no nightmares tonight.

-xxxxxx-

_Finding you was like coming home_.

~writingsforwinter, 6-Word Story #81

-xxxxxx-

_A/N: Ugh. I need to learn how to depict love in writing. And I finally played the Brainless card in there. BUT we've got over 100 followers on this story now! I cannot believe this, I really can't. Also, all you guest reviewers out there, I see you. I read all your responses, I just wish I could thank you all properly. But no matter I appreciate your feedback all the same. Everyone's feedback, actually._

_Anyways, a massive thank you to all who are keeping up with this. Every time I get a new email it brings a smile to my face. I feel like when I'm not writing these author's notes I have so many things to say but when I actually get down to writing them I forget everything I'm going to say. I'll remember eventually. ALSO: I've uploaded an Everlark video edit to my YouTube channel! It's not even to the songs I was thinking of using in my other update, but I'll probably get around to editing those too. My YouTube user is KSKLAG. Yes, I love Katniss and Johanna together but I also love some Katniss and Peeta too. Let me know what you think of it if you watch (if YouTube doesn't keep taking it down)!_

_As always, thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, and/or follows this story. I cannot say this enough but I do appreciate and am thankful for all your support. Until next time! I hope you have a splendid holiday, and happy finals (?) _


	8. skin

Triggers: Language

I do not own anything except for the plot

-xxxxxx-

"We're not there yet, are we?" she asks as the train pulls to a stop.

"No," I say, picking up my backpack. She does the same without question.

The train doors slide open to reveal a barren forest with remains of factories and buildings scattered throughout. Burned black from the rebellion. Burned down because of me. Her breath hitches as soon the sight settles and her eyes glint in the pale light. I hear the thud of her backpack on the floor when it slips from her hand. She stumbles off the threshold, standing in astonishment on the platform.

I am just about to call out to her when I hear my name coming from a group of people about to board. They appear friendly enough, and I greet them with a polite smile. They speak exuberantly, talking about the rebellion and how much they admire my bravery. But when I look at the black forest behind their heads I can't help but feel a little skeptical.

The train signals their departure, and when I look back to where Johanna was standing she's gone.

-xxxxxx-

I find her in a cemetery at sunset. The flames hadn't reached this part of the forest and the mixture of green from the abundance of trees and vegetation swaying in the breeze creates a surreal image around her still form. I notice there are handpicked flowers in front of three graves, including the one she is kneeled before.

Her back is to me and I could faintly hear her cries in front of the headstone, barely murmuring the names of her deceased family as she repeatedly hits the gravestone over and over again with balled fists.

The dead leaves crunch audibly beneath my boots as I approach her. She doesn't acknowledge me until I lower myself besides her, pulling her bruised knuckles away. Her tears soak into my shirt as she wraps herself around me.

I bite down on my lip to tune out her brittle voice as she apologizes into my neck over and over again, trying to keep from breaking down myself. She pulls back, and as I massage her hands back open I find the bundle of pine needles I had given her clutched between her fingers.

We don't stay for very long after that.

-xxxxxx-

"_I love you."_

"_Yeah, I know."_

"_Don't forget it though."_

~_Skins _ (TV Series 2007)

-xxxxxx-

Her hand never leaves mine the entire walk back to the train.

"I'm sorry I brought us here," I say as the compartment door shuts.

"Don't be. I needed that," she says softly, wincing as I clean her hands. They've stopped bleeding by now, and her eyes stay glued to the movement of my hands as they wrap the gauze around her knuckles. "When I learned they were dead I never came back. Not to my house, at least. I mostly stayed with Blight in 7.

"You and Peeta were lucky. President Snow had plans to keep us in line. All of us," she adds after a moment, taking a deep breath. "No one told us what we were doing wrong. No one told us what happened if we did do something wrong. No one told Haymitch or Finnick or Enobaria or anyone. Why should they tell me?

"I stayed with Finnick, too. He was the only one who didn't see me as a monster," she sighs after a long silence.

"You're not a monster," I say immediately, tying off the last knot.

She doesn't seem to hear me. "It only took one night," she says, her voice tremulous as her hands begin picking at the bandages. "One night and everything I ever cared about was ripped from me. Gone.

"It is better if you die. Being a victor isn't worth it. It's better if you die in the Games."

She releases my hand and rubs the spot on the crook of her elbow in a familiar pattern.

"Where's all the fucking alcohol?" she says shakily to no one in particular. Flipping through all the cabinets in the compartment, she finds a stocked shelf and emerges with a bottle of whiskey, looking uneasy before uncapping it and taking a long drag.

In the end, it's her who pulls the bottle away from me that night.

-xxxxxx-

_Love isn't about_

_fucking each other_

_at any opportunity._

_It also isn't about_

_how many months_

_or years_

_that you've been together._

_To me,_

_love is about_

_being able to see light_

_inside of the person_

_who knows nothing_

_but darkness._

~mostlyfiction

-xxxxxx-

"_We were in the library when you told me you loved me for the first time. […] And you looked at me expecting nothing at all because you knew expectation just led to heartbreak. You said those three goddamn words like you couldn't hold them in any longer, so I did the only thing I could and kissed you with all the words I could not say."_

~Marianna Paige

-xxxxxx-

She gasps awake in bed beside me. Her sudden movements rouse me from my dreamless sleep, but she doesn't seem to notice.

After listening to her erratic breathing for a few moments, I sit up and trace my finger down the length of her back. My lips meet her bare shoulder briefly, and my hand runs down her arm and settles around her middle. I hear her let out an uneasy breath but she makes no notion to acknowledge my presence.

"Hey. Could you look at me, please?" I say gently, placing a kiss on her neck as my thumb runs across her ribs. "Please?"

She turns so we face each other, but when our eyes meet hers go straight through me, as if I wasn't even there. I find her hand and press my lips against her palm. Our eyes meet and I lean forward to press a kiss on her forehead, then her nose, and eventually her lips.

"It's okay, it's okay," I whisper when we part, my voice drowned out by the hum of the train. I run my fingers through her hair and this seems to calm the storm because her eyes close at the gesture. "I'm here. You're all right. You're okay." She nods in response, curling towards me and I pull her into an embrace as the heat from our bodies fuse.

"I love you," I say into her hair. She pulls back to brush the strands hair back from my face, her eyes never leaving mine and I kiss her with such an intensity she plummets back to earth.

-xxxxxx-

_It is a risk to love. _

_What if it doesn't work out?_

_Ah, but what if it does._

~Peter McWilliams

-xxxxxx-

_A/N: Reading all your responses to this story warms my heart, it really does. I recently saw fanart of this story, and that BLOWS MY MIND!? I'm going to resist typing in caps lock but my heart was radiating with so much warmth I'm pretty sure it melted or disintegrated or something. I felt like I could fly. I'm probably flying right now. You guys are lovely. I'm speechless. So much love out to you guys. I'm sorry if I babble in the PMs I send or if I'm babbling right now, I'm so bad with words I feel like I have to repeat everything I say for anything to actually resonate with you guys. I don't know what else to say. You have all made my year. You have all made my year, and I feel like I cannot thank you enough for your support._

_Unfortunately, we've reached the point where I've run out of somewhat decent pieces to compile into a chapter. I _might_ have enough for one more. But updates will be slower, and I apologize in advance. If you'd like to keep in touch, send me a PM or follow me on Tumblr (h0gwarts)._

_Again, thank you for reading. Thank you for reviewing. Happy New Year everyone._

_when an artist wants to show you their art_

_or a writer wants you to read what they've written_

_it's quite often an expression of trust_

_because a poem or a story or a painting are often things that come from the heart_

_little pieces of the artists themselves_

_and if they're willing to share it with you_

_you should appreciate it_

~fadical


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